


Dead!

by OrangePatrick



Series: Old Stuff From Tumblr (Unrelated) [9]
Category: My Chemical Romance, frnkiero andthe cellabration
Genre: Death, Ficlet, Gen, Minor Character Death, Minor Character Murder, Minor Character Overdose, Minor character suicide, The Black Parade, i hate myself but u know what i still kinda dig this concept soooo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 17:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6248413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangePatrick/pseuds/OrangePatrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, they were all kinda pissed that Gerard just took all their souls without notice. I mean, who wouldn’t be? No more living, but at the same time, no death. Just eternal… whatever this place was.</p><p>Until he explained what he wanted to do, the visions he’d had, the lost souls that were stolen before they could make their own way. His idea to save people.</p><p>So that’s what they did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bob Bryar: The Unexpected Ones

The day before she died, she saw a man in a marching band suit standing on the corner of 19th and Raymore, skin as pale as the white stripes on his black jacket and pants, blond fringe sweeping over one eye. He stood at attention, right there on the corner, watching her, and she had an eerie feeling that no one else could see him.

She was right, and the following evening, she awoke from a deep slumber to find him standing in her doorway, and she screamed.

“Don’t be scared,” he said simply, holding out his hand. Before she could even think to reach for it, out of the corner of her eye she saw another figure standing in the opposite corner of her room. The woman wore a full, wired gray skirt, frizzy pale hair framing a face hidden behind an old World War gas mask. At the sight of the woman, the man seemed more urgent. “Quickly,” he hissed, reaching for her at the same time the woman lifted a hand. The girl froze, unsure, confused. “We need to get out of here,” the man whispered, at last grasping her fingers. “But you need to be willing to go with me.” The gas-masked woman seemed to glide across the floorboards as she moved forward, and the girl’s chest heaved with each unnecessary breath, unaware of her own death. “Now is not the time to panic, okay? It will only draw Mama nearer,” the blond tried to sooth, but it wasn’t working, and Mother War was at the foot of the bed, hand still outstretched.

With a shuddery breath, a gravelly voice wheezed from behind the mask. “Come, child.”

“She’s mine!” the Parader shouted, but the girl remained rooted, unwilling to go with him and therefore making him unable to do anything about the situation.

“Come, child,” the dry voice repeated, and the girl rose hypnotically and reached for the hand.

The man made one last attempt at clutching the soul to himself before both disappeared from the room. He tugged at his fringe in frustration as the room melted away and he found himself sitting on the edge of a black-, white-, and red-colored parade float, disappointed and angry and full of regret that he couldn’t save her.

He felt someone sit next to him but didn’t acknowledge their presence for a long time, too preoccupied with his self-loathing.

“Bob,” Frank finally said softly, “we can’t help all of them.”

For a while, Bob didn’t respond, until at last he whispered hoarsely, “I had her hand. I had her hand, but she just- couldn’t-”

Frank rubbed soothing circles over Bob’s lower back, willing the tension away. “There was nothing you could do. Sometimes Mama knows where she needs to be. I hate to sound like Schechter, but… sometimes we have to sacrifice one in order to give the others time to work, y’know? You stalled her, and that’s all we need. We’re winning this war, despite the few that we lose. Don’t beat yourself up over it, man.” When he was met with no reply, the shorter Parader sighed and used Bob’s shoulder to balance as he got back to his feet. “I have to get to work. Sorry. See you around, yeah?”


	2. Frank Iero: the sick and elderly

The day before he died, the man saw a raven-haired man in a black-and-white marching band suit walking down the hall of his home, skin pale as snow and green eyes bright and alert. He didn’t think about the marching band kid– really, he looked 16– after he passed, however, but not necessarily because he didn’t want to. He just genuinely didn’t remember, just like he didn’t remember his own name or where he was or what year it was or how old he was or why everything was fading.When Alzheimer’s slowly stopped his heart that night, the man opened his eyes fully for the first time in a decade and a half. His bones didn’t creak as he sat up, a spirit leaving its human body behind. The marching band kid was there, smiling at him, holding out a hand.

  
“Who are you?” the man asked, cherishing the fact that he could speak once more.

“My name is Frank, and I’m here to lead you on. Just take my hand, and as long as you’re ready to go, we can leave.”

The old man smiled at Frank and stood up, legs no longer shaky or weak. “Thank you,” he said softly as he took the Parader’s hand and the room melted away around them. The retirement home turned into a wide, ashen place, the two landing right near a black-, white-, and red-colored parade float.

“This is where I let you decide,” Frank spoke, still holding the man’s hand. “You may choose to join the Parade-” he gestured towards the queue of people building behind the float- “or you may follow the road ahead, where your soul can rest. The Parade makes the journey once a week, and will depart soon. If you’d rather not wait, feel free to walk ahead- however, you just might have a loved one in the queue, so that’s what most people choose.” Then he shrugged, losing a bit of the formality. “Or they just like the company.”

The old man smiled. “I think I’ll join the queue.”

Frank nodded, then sighed in relief as the man walked away. He was hoping, as he hoped with everyone who chose, that the man would go to the queue. It was safer that way, as Mother War could be waiting, watching for stragglers.

She was weaker than she once was, but still dangerous for souls; she couldn’t attack groups anymore, which made the March easier, but Gerard was still adamant about protecting the dead, so it wasn’t like they’d loosened up security any. Mikey still occasionally complained about having to go along every week because of the amount of people that died when they were gone, but Frank didn’t really care. He liked the Marches a lot, and, usually, so did the souls.

The raven-haired Parader sighed contentedly and sat on the edge of the float, swinging his legs. A frown momentarily appeared on his face as he thought about Bob, but it disappeared quickly when Gerard walked over and sat next to him.

The white-blond threw an arm around Frank and smiled tiredly. “How ya doin’, Frankie?”

“I’m okay. Might wanna find Bob, though. He just lost one a little bit ago and was pretty frustrated about it, y’know?”

Gee nodded solemnly. “Mama?”

“Yeah.”

  
They both shuddered.


	3. Gerard Way: the overdoses

The day before he overdosed, the teenager saw a man with close-cropped hair in a black-and-white marching band uniform standing in the darker corners of the old abandoned warehouse that he sat in. Of course, the boy had no thoughts past the initial noticing, because he was too strung-out and figured the man was just another hallucination.

He was right, in a way. No one else could’ve seen the man.

The following morning, the teenage boy opened his eyes blearily, looking around at the dark, musty room he was in. He didn’t remember where he was or how he got there, but he glanced down to see a needle in his arm and panicked, because of all the things I’m willing to do, heroin was not part of the plan, anything but heroin, oh God, save me, jerking his arm up only to find that it didn’t move. Instead, an almost transparent copy of his arm, needleless and without pockmark, rose instead. He blinked and sat up, turning to see that he’d left his body behind. When he turned forward again, a white-blond man was crouched on the floor there, holding out a hand.

“Who- who are y-you?” the teenager asked, choking on the words.

The man had an airy, almost high, voice. “Death.”

Feeling the overwhelming urge to start crying, the boy whispered, “I-I- I over-rdos-sed?”

Death nodded solemnly, hand still out, and the boy at last took it.

“Where are we going?”

“The Parade,” Death answered hollowly, hazel eyes trained on a spot somewhere above the teenager’s left shoulder. The musty, moldy room faded away, like watercolor being stripped from a page, replaced with a large black-, white-, and red-colored parade float. Death pointed to the queue of souls gathered behind the float, and the teenager nodded silently, awestruck by his surroundings and still not sure if this was just another drugged-up dream.

Gerard turned away stiffly, letting out a small sigh of narrow relief, even though his job was not yet done with this one. Schuchter approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. “You just can’t stop yourself from being a little drama queen, can you?”

They both allowed themselves small chuckles before Brian turned serious again.

“You still need to finish the job, though.”

“I know what I have to do,” Gerard muttered, leaning into the touch anyway. Comfort was comfort. “I’ve been doing this longer than you, y’know.”

The other Parader just smiled a little sadly. “True. Good luck, Gee.”

Gerard ran a hand through his hair and vanished, going to exactly two minutes before the teenager’s death. After a little bit of searching, he found a cell phone and dialed the number of the first person on the boy’s contacts list. It rang, and rang, and rang, until at last the voicemail answered. Death took the teenager’s voice and whispered, “I think I’m in an old warehouse on Raymond, and I think I’m dying. Help me.”

The job done, he left once more and rejoined the Parade just as the March got ready to begin.


	4. Ray Toro: the suicides

The day before she planned her suicide, she saw a man wearing a black-and-white marching band suit with wild, frizzy light brown hair standing on the corner of 71st and Neiman.  She paused in her walking to stare at him from underneath her dark hood, and she could’ve sworn that he stared right back.  However, as soon as she took a few steps towards him, a mob of people crossed between them and he vanished.  She took it as a sign– that someone would be there, waiting for her, after she died.

She was right, and twenty-five hours later, the same man cradled her in his arms as she sobbed into his shoulder, chanting over and over again, “I’m sorry, Mom.  I’m so sorry, Mommy.”  She felt weak and vulnerable, and the Parader felt it too.  His pale eyes darted around the edges of the girl’s bathroom, trying to keep the dark away.

“Let’s go somewhere safe,” he commanded softly.

She nodded.

The scene of the bloody bathroom scattered with pill bottles faded and transitioned into one of a wide desert-like wasteland. A black-, white-, and red-colored parade float stood proud before them, a queue of souls behind it. However, he knew she wasn’t ready for the crowd just yet.

They sat down a ways off, staring at the parade.

“Is this it? All that there is?” the teenager asked softly, eyes watery.

“No. This is the inbetween. The Parade. The Parade will take you to your next destination.”

She sniffed and leaned into the Parader. “What’s that like?”

“I don’t know,” he answered softly. “You shouldn’t be finding out so soon.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know, but everything was so hard, and my dad–”

“Shh, shh, I know. He’s not here now, though.” He sighed and shook his head. “This wasn’t the right answer. It may have seemed easy, but it wasn’t right. I wish someone would’ve told you that before you did it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. We need to go now.”

Parader and girl rose together, the former stepping up into his place on the float and the latter joining the queue.

As he strapped on his guitar, Ray noted that Mikey wasn’t back quite yet, although that wasn’t unusual. He hoped that there weren’t any more run-ins with Mama– Frank filled him in on what happened with Bob, and the drummer was now sitting silently behind his drums, staring at the snare determined to avoid eye contact or conversation.

Bob began the march tempo, and the other Paraders exchanged looks with Ray before hitting that final chord. Mikey scrambled onto the float and Ray nodded at him as they began to move forward.


	5. Mikey Way: the murders

The day before she was murdered, the mother saw a man in a black-and-white marching band suit with slicked-back dark brown hair and hooded eyes standing on the corner of 19th and Illmoore. Startled, she hurried her children along home, where her husband was making dinner for the family of five and the two English shepherds were waiting for their own bowls to be filled. The sight of him made her uneasy, though she wasn’t quite sure why. As she laid in bed next to her husband that night, a wisp of a whispered thought crossed her mind: what if she was the only one who could see him?

She was right, and fifteen hours later she was jostled from her body, wailing for her children. He stood there in silence as she beat his chest, crying him and screaming because what did I ever do until he gently wrapped his fingers around each of her delicate wrists and the soul stopped fighting, defeated and weary.

“We can’t stay here for too much longer, but would you like to check on your children?” he asked, concern bleeding into his monotonous voice. The soul nodded frantically, so they began to wander through the house. They found two of them in the eldest’s closet, hiding away, tears on their faces. Their mother’s soul cried out, but the Parader put a hand on her shoulder. “They can’t see us.”

“My baby,” she whispered, looking up at him. “Where is he?”

Mikey followed the soul as she streaked through the house, at last finding the body of a little boy at the bottom of the basement steps. He sat up and waved, smiling, rising from his body as though he was just waiting for them to come find him. “Mama, it’s the parade man we saw yesterday!” he cried out gleefully, pointing.

At the sound of Mama, Mikey tensed and searched the dark corners of the basement, taking both of their hands. “We have to leave. Now. Are you willing to come with me?”

“What about-” the mother started, but she stopped when he shook his head. “Okay.”

The Parader saw a flash of a gas mask before the room faded from view, replaced by an ashen land and a giant black-, white-, and red-colored parade float. Mikey pointed towards the queue of souls just as Bob began the first slow funeral beat. The woman took her child’s hand and they joined the back of the parade. At last second, however, the little boy turned and waved at the Parader, a grin on his face- he was happy here, and he would be happy in the Parade, and his siblings were going to be just fine even though he hoped that foster systems weren’t as bad as the pictureless books made them seem. After taking a second to wave back, Mikey scrambled onto the float back near the drum set and grabbed his bass, strapping it on just before the first chord needed to be struck.

Frank shot him a grin and he and Ray exchanged nods. Gerard trotted back and forth from the front of the float back to the drums, over-excited because this would never get old. After that, Mikey tuned out, focussed on the music.

The March began.


	6. Epilogue: frnkiero andthe cellabration

The day the Black Parade died was the day the music stopped. It did not see any of five men, dressed in black and white Parade uniforms, the day before. In fact, the Black Parade had no concept of day or night or time: only life and the absence of it. Only souls arriving and departing.

Because it had no concept of time, the Black Parade did not know how many years passed as it guided souls from death into the afterlife. It did not know how long people came and went– only that they came and went. So, after many years, when the Paraders were worn out of transporting souls, the Black Parade did not understand that weariness.

“Someone else was doing this before us. People were dying long before we came along,” Gerard said as they watched souls migrate from the Parade into the Gap, where the afterlife lay.

“What about Mama?” Mikey asked, leaning against his brother.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe we need to lead her past the Gap, too,” Ray suggested.

“And then we can go through,” Bob concluded.

Brian nodded. Frank did not move, did not speak; just watched souls.

He was still there, watching, when the other five returned with Mother War and her girls, Fear and Regret.

Fear entered the Gap first, and the mortal world felt lighter.

Regret took a bit more tempting, a bit more time, before she crossed the Gap. The mortal world felt more at ease.

Mother War thrashed and fought, as war tends to do, until at last she flew across the Gap. The mortal world was at peace.

Souls no longer feared the next life.

When at last the three terrors of the wasteland found the afterlife, Bob was the first to follow. He saluted his fellow Paraders before closing his eyes and leaning back into the pale glow.

Mikey followed, eager for rest. He hugged the remaining four tightly before going to the light at an almost sprint.

Ray stood at the edge for a long time before giving them a final wave and stepping across.

Schuchter didn’t even look back as he jumped.

Gerard stepped up to the Gap. Frank still hadn’t moved. The blond man once known as Death offered his hand one last time.

“C’mon, Frankie. Time to go.”

Frank smiled sadly and shook his head. “Go on, Gerard. I’m staying for a little while longer.”

The day that he was reborn, everything was black and white. There was no color, like there had been as a Parader. No random shocks of red like he used to see as a Parader.

The day that he was reborn, the Parade ceased to exist.

He sat up suddenly in a coffin and found himself staring into the black eyes of five small teenage boys. Maybe less than teenage boys. Preteens. That was when he saw, at last, color. One of them, with long dark hair and a face full of freckles, had an orange-red button on his denim vest. The pin had a symbol on it, and the symbol stirred something deep within the ex-Parader.

Like he should’ve felt alive.

He didn’t feel alive.

He could, however, feel the heartbeat there, underneath the preteen’s hoodie, so he reached for it, fingers digging in until he pulled the beating thing from the boy’s chest.

There it was, Frnkiero thought, grinning widely to reveal crooked, pointed teeth. There was life.

**fin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goodbye, my chemical romance.


End file.
